


Some Say In Fire

by Devilc



Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: Blow Jobs, Ice Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-14
Updated: 2010-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's become something of a ritual now. Alaric sees the square decanter and the ice-bucket full of big, square ice-cubes -- the kind that only seem to exist in movies or advertisements -- and he knows how the evening will end.</p><p>But that's not true, and Alaric knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Say In Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to [Some Say In Ice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/239298). Inspired by this quote from Spasticat's DW: _And now I go back to Damon and Alaric. This sidestepping into Jeremy's world was a nice diversion but there's more serious things to tackle...like what *kind* of scotch does Damon like and *how* he does he like to drink it? Does he twirl it in his glass counter-clockwise? Does he adulterate it with ice cubes? Does he like to place said ice cubes on Alaric's chest and if so...does he lick upwards or downwards?_  
>  Title and quote taken from the Robert Frost poem "Fire and Ice".
> 
> Thank you to Devo for the beta.
> 
> Legalese: The Vampire Diaries is copyright its respective owners. This is a loving labor of lusty speculation, nothing more.

>   
> _From what I've tasted of desire  
>  I hold with those who favor fire._   
> 

If you asked him how it began, Alaric would lie and tell you he doesn't exactly remember -- he was drunk at the time.

It began with scotch, but honestly, unless it's one of those really smoky tasting whiskeys that no way can he afford on a teacher's salary, Alaric really can't tell much difference between a bottle of Johnny Walker and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

(All he can say for certain is, it's _never_ the cheap burn of Wild Turkey.)

\----

So, they were unwinding after a long night spent cleaning up a mess that they both suspect Katherine and/or Isobel had her hands in, each of them slouched against the arm of their respective ends of the couch, nursing their respective glasses of scotch on the rocks ... Alaric's pretty sure it was his third, but it might have been his fourth ... and he caught that sly, sidelong flash of blue fire out of Damon's eyes.

Damon, having no shame whatsoever of course, didn't blush, or look away, or duck his head and look up at Alaric through the fringe of his lashes, or anything coy like that. Just cocked his head and arched an eyebrow in that "so you caught me, now what'cha gonna do about it" way of his.

Partly because he wanted to see that blink-and-you'll-miss-it flash of pure shock in his eyes, Alaric crooked his finger.

Damon didn't have to be asked twice.

Alaric liked the kissing that followed. Liked reclining against, then sliding down the armrest as Damon loomed over him. Liked the way that Damon's mouth (surprisingly warm, another myth about vampires dispelled, Alaric noted) slanted against his. Liked the way that Damon teased oh so wickedly with that clever tongue of his.

(Liked all of it every bit as much as he was afraid he would.)

And when he felt Damon straddle him, felt Damon's fingers go to work on his tie -- of course this mess happened on a night that required suit and tie -- Alaric let him. A little voice niggled in the back of his mind about the dangers of letting a vampire have unrestricted access to his neck, but between lust and the scotch still surging through his veins, making the world that perfect amount of warm and fuzzy, Alaric found it easy to shut that little voice up. He started to fumble back at Damon's tie and buttons, but Damon simply grabbed his arms and lifted them back over Alaric's head, pressing them to the armrest. Alaric half smiled, half laughed and crossed his wrists over his head and watched the fire in Damon's eyes flare up to blast furnace levels.

(Or, he wondered, were vampires normally cold, only burning hot with passion?)

Locking his eyes with Alaric's, Damon unknotted and unthreaded Alaric's tie from his collar and then used it to bind Alaric's wrists together -- and all the while Alaric could think of nothing but how intensely, perfectly crystal blue Damon's eyes were, let his last bit of resistance be consumed by the fire burning in them.

It was more the _idea_ of bondage than anything else. It was so loose, and there wasn't a knot, just the tie wrapped around his wrists a few times and then the tail ends wrapped between his hands. Nothing he couldn't undo and shimmy out of in a few seconds. Damon canted his head and made the request with a look and Alaric grinned his answer back. Yes, he could play along.

Hell, he _wanted_ to play along.

Damon unbuttoned Alaric's shirt, brushed both halves aside, and ran his hands up and down Alaric's chest, clearly liking what he saw and felt, the touch of his hands making Alaric shiver as much from the feeling of hands where there hadn't been any in so long, and as much from seeing the reflection of himself in Damon's eyes.

(Better than mirrors on the ceiling.)

Damon broke eye contact with him a moment later, reached for his empty glass and pulled out the largest ice cube. He held it up to the light a moment, studied it, turned it over in his fingers a few times, and placed it in the middle of Alaric's chest.

 _Shit it was cold_ , given the heated flush of his skin. Alaric felt himself involuntarily clench against the chill which seemed to radiate from that one point outwards in little bands across his chest. Damon's gaze centered on the ice cube, like he was waiting for something, and the intensity of his stare, god, it made Alaric ache and _want_. A moment later he felt a little bead of ice water run down his chest and pool in the base of his throat. A shuddery breath later and another dribble of water ran the other way down his chest, across his torso, collecting in his belly button. Damon tilted his head to the side, paused for a moment in thought, his eyes darting, following both trails, before he chortled low and breathy in his throat and Alaric gasped -- as much as in relief as in delight -- when Damon slid back, ducked down, and began licking at that little line of water that ran towards his ~~belly button~~ ... cock.

( ~~Because this could have~~ He quashed that thought. Wouldn't let the little voice inside say it. Couldn't let the little voice inside go there. Told it that Damon hadn't fanged out ~~so he was safe~~.)

He shimmied and undulated and twisted and did everything he could to make Damon move faster as he oh so slowly inched his way past Alaric's navel, down to the belt buckle and button at the top of Alaric's dress pants -- did everything except bring his hands down, take hold of Damon's head and shove it where he needed it to go. The words tumbled out of Alaric's mouth, too: "fucking tease" "bastard" "asshole" "dose you with vervain for this."

Everything except "please".

Until at last at last _at last_ Damon unzipped him, reached into his boxers, and took Alaric in hand before giving the most delicate lick to the pre-come soaking the head of his cock. Alaric felt his eyes flutter shut and he loosed a pent up breath of want he didn't realize he'd been holding.

In a long slow, wet slide, Damon took him all in and Alaric wanted nothing more than to rock and thrust into that lush, hot, mouth. Only, he'd learned long ago, doing that without invitation was a good way to have a lover get toothy, and Damon certainly had a formidable set of those when he wanted to ( ~~The better to eat you with, my dear~~ ). Damon's hands clenched hard on the horns of his pelvis a moment later, pinning him down, removing the option. Strain and try as he might, Alaric could not thrust his cock a millimeter, which left him totally and completely at Damon's tender mercies as he set the excruciatingly slow pace, doing the most wickedly wonderful things with his tongue as he pumped his mouth up and down on Alaric's cock.

Brain on autopilot, the words flowed from Alaric's mouth like the meltwater running down the side of his neck -- a nuisance, really, nothing more.

Until finally his orgasm snuck up on him, causing the previously fluid stream of words to hitch and catch and Damon _slurrrrped_ his way down as Alaric screwed his eyes shut and came and came _and came_ into that gulping maw.

\-----

It's become something of a ritual now. Alaric sees the square decanter and the ice-bucket full of big, square ice-cubes -- the kind that only seem to exist in movies or advertisements -- and he knows how the evening will end.

But that's not true, and Alaric knows it.

He's playing with fire.

Every time, Damon eyes _both_ equally appealing trails of meltwater and makes his choice: cock, or neck?

So far, he's chosen one over the other, but Damon's like the stock market. Past results are no guarantee of future performance.

Alaric realizes that one day Damon will choose a different path.

(He's bound to get burned.)

It's a game. The ice-cube is placed, the die is cast.

(It's a game he can't stop playing.)

Today is the day --

(Feel that heat! Place your bets!)

\-- or it isn't.

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to have a little fun with the notion that vampires are ice-cold. Cold kills hard-ons. Vampires are mystical creatures, why can't they be ~~hot~~ burn with lust when it furthers their own ends?


End file.
